


Untidy Black Hair

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-01
Updated: 2007-07-01
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Because, really, that's what it always comes down to, isn't it? Falling in love in 13 steps.





	Untidy Black Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Untidy Black Hair**

_\----------_

**i.**

Because when she walked away, no one quite noticed that her face was squirming with embarrassment, her mind was racing with words (had she said toerag? _Toerag?_ ), and her feet were crunching the grass beneath them with a bit more ferocity than usual. Because as she abandoned him there, by the lake, feeling defeated and undoubtedly pretending not to care ( _well, maybe he didn’t_ ), her fingertips were tingling because she _wanted_ to laugh—for the briefest second—and was horrified by the gash on the side of his unjustly attractive face. Because, despite everything, he defended her name, and although she would never, _for the life of her_ , admit it aloud, maybe she was developing a bit of a crush after all.

_\--_

**ii.**

Sirius Black had a rather nice singing voice.

Even if he didn’t know the correct lyrics, and those fourth-year boys he’d enlisted to sing backup were _shoobeedoo_ -ing in all the wrong ways, his voice was smooth, gentle, and steadfast. 

“ _In the still—of the niiiiiight_ ,” he crooned, donning dramatic facial expressions and gesturing with wild theatric emotion. “He looooooved you, loved you _riiiiight_!”

She didn’t bother to inform him that the words were _held you tight_ , not _love you right_ , because though his tender voice rang through her ears, her eyes caught distraction by the vision of James Potter’s figure across the room, slouched in an armchair, bent over his knees, head in his hands, utterly mortified.

“Shoodoo, shoobee doo— _go out with Prongs_ —shoodoo, shoobee doo…”

After his performance, she rolled her eyes but smiled at Sirius nonetheless, and then tentatively at James, who gawked at her in what seemed a mix of sheer horror and shock, and she disappeared into the girls’ dormitory.

The next day at breakfast, even though it appeared as though James had been involved in a violent tornado from the hairline up, Lily passed James the salt.

Sirius was sporting a brilliantly black-and-blue, ecchymosed left eye, but he seemed fairly pleased with himself despite it.

_\--_

**iii.**

On the first day back at school after Christmas holidays, James Potter had shown up at dinner rather casually, hungry as usual, sitting on the left end of the Gryffindor table as usual, beginning his meal by piling mashed potatoes onto his plate as usual—and, most _un_ usually, bearing a bald head.

Well, not completely bald—there was still the tiniest layer of black fuzz covering his scalp.

When he caught her eye, she gasped slightly, he grinned wide, and then she started laughing.

_\--_

**iv.**

By the end of term, his hair had grown back and then some. 

He asked her to Hogsmeade, she told him there were only three days of school left, and he asked why that mattered.

He asked her again, she said no, and his hand impulsively reached up—

I really hate it when you do that, she said, grabbing his wrist. She let go.

I know, he said, and did it anyway.

_\--_

**v.**

She stepped into the Prefect compartment proudly bearing her newfound authority on her chest.

She looked around; most people were sitting with their legs raised or standing on the seats.

“Got it!”

They dropped their legs and sat down properly as he emerged from crawling underneath a row of seats, Head Boy badge dusty and glittering in his palm.

She took a deep breath and braced herself.

_\--_

**vi.**

She watched as he slowly rose from the table, shaky hands attempting steadiness, his plate hardly touched, and left the Great Hall without a word.

It was most uncharacteristic.

She glanced at the headline of Peter’s _Prophet_.

She frowned. Sirius didn’t go after him, nor did Remus or Peter.

_Perhaps…?_

She stared at her toast until Alice prompted that they had Charms next period.

_\--_

**vii.**

They defeated Slytherin.                                                                               

The Gryffindor common room was wild with excitement, captivated by the thrill of the glorious triumph. 

It was the end of October, and he hadn’t asked her out.

He danced riotously, passionately, _recklessly_ , really, with one of the girls on the team. A chaser, she thought, and he looked purely elated.

She had one of those horrible nagging feelings, the one where something seemed to be inexplicably missing.

_\--_

**viii.**

After a Prefect meeting, they lingered in the classroom afterward to review the schedule for rounds.

You don’t mess with your hair anymore, she blurted, then winced.

He seemed surprised, but then he smiled.

Only when you’re not around, he said.

She kissed him.

_\--_

**ix.**

How did this happen? he asked, sitting up on his bed, arms resting on his knees. Lips swollen and short of breath.

How did what happen? she prompted, taking it upon herself to bury her body underneath his comforter. Warmth filled her blood.

This, he said. _Us_.

It just happened, she said after a moment. I don’t think there’s… a valid explanation.

He nodded because he probably understood better than she did. He bent over his bed and reached for something under the mattress. He surfaced and handed her a small, red velvet box.

Merry Christmas, he smiled.

She opened it. Perfect, oval, emerald earrings.

She’d never had a boyfriend who had quite targeted her taste in jewelry.

They’re perfect, she said truthfully, and kissed him.

_Love you_ , she wanted to add, but didn’t.

_\--_

**x.**

Just do it, she panted. Before I change my mind. Just bloody _go_.

Are you absolutely, positively, _entirely_ certain? he posed.

Of course, she said, and loved him for asking. She pressed her mouth to his, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and then—

_Oh_ , what _pain_ , what _utter pain_ —but then—

She pulled him closer, if possible, and called out his name in a hushed sort of gasp, despite herself.

Afterwards, she gathered her clothes and left in a hurry. 

It simply wasn’t _right_ to feel this way at seventeen.

_\--_

**xi.**

He cornered her in the library.

I don’t care that you haven’t spoken to me since… since, well, you know… and I don’t know _why_. I mean, I personally thought it was rather nice—and _you_ seemed to bloody enjoy it—and I don’t care if you’re angry with me for whatever reason because—well, actually, I do care, really, a hell of lot more than I should. And—anyway—I mean to say, it’s written in the bloody stars for us, you know, and I _don’t_ say things like that, so—so just speak to me when you’ve grown the hell up, all right?

He was flustered, and his hand automatically shot up to mess up his hair.

Her stomach plummeted when he walked away, but a few seconds later, _he looked back_.

She sprinted towards him and launched herself in his arms.

She didn’t care that everyone in the room was watching, wide-eyed and stunned, or that Madam Pince was yelling about public indecency.

She kissed him.

Love you, she whispered in a deathly quiet voice because at least _this_ she would share with him and him alone, somehow knowing that he would always, forever, _indefinitely_ look back.

_\--_

**xii.**

Christmas was nearing.

She decorated her modest little flat in red and green, silver and gold. Her decorations appeared out of place, bright and shining colors against dingy walls and bland shading.

I miss Christmas at Hogwarts, she said to him one night as they sat on her window seat. His gaze was focused on the sky. It was marvelously dark; the moon was invisible tonight.

Me, too, he replied softly.

He leaned forward and she moved towards him. He tilted his head suddenly so that her lips brushed the side of his face. She felt his lips just barely touch her cheek, trailing ever so slightly along her jaw line, up to her ear. She shivered fleetingly. 

You’re giving me goosebumps, she admitted.

Marry me, he whispered.

_\--_

**xiii.**

How is this _possible_? she wondered out loud. He’s _seven weeks old_.

At least we know he’s definitely mine, he joked.

She affectionately stroked the baby’s head, patting down his chaotic disarray of tresses. It sprung up instantly after she removed her fingers.

_Untidy black hair_ , she mused silently, smiling calmly. _It will be the death of me._

_\--_

 

 

a/n: Everytime you review, a boy with untidy black hair meets a redhead. =)


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